by Damon Knight
Matthew Quoin was talking to a lone robin that was pulling worms out of the browned grass that was beginning to be crusted with the first snow of the season. But the robin didn’t answer.
“You live on the promise of spring, robin, though you do well even now,” Quoin said. “I also have a new promise to live for. I have been given a fresh lease on life today, though it will be about seven years before I can put that lease into effect. But, after you’re old, seven years go by just like nothing. A person in the Imperial Coin Nook (it’s in a corner of the Empire Cigar and Hash Store) says that in about seven years my coins will have value, and eventually he will be able to pay a nickel or dime or even fifteen cents for each of them. And that is only the beginning, he says: in fifty years they may be worth eighty cents or even a dollar each. I am starting to put one coin out of every three into a little cranny in my sewer to save them. Of course, for those seven years that I wait, I will go hungrier by one third. But this promise is like a second sun coming up in the morning. I will rise and shine with it.”
“Bully for you,” the robin said.
“So I have no reason to be discouraged,” Quoin went on. “I have a warm and sheltered sewer to go to. And I have had a little bit, though not enough, to eat today. I hallucinate, and I’m a trifle delirious and silly, I know. I’m lightheaded, but I believe I could make it if I had just one more morsel to eat. This has been the worst of my days foodwise, but they may get a little bit better if I live through this one. It will be a sort of turning of the worm for me now. Hey, robin, that was pretty good, the turning of the worm. Did you get it?”
“I got it,” the robin said. “It was pretty good.”
“And how is it going with yourself?” Matthew Quoin asked. “There’s good days and bad ones,” the robin said. “This is a pretty good one. After the other robins have all gone south, I have pretty good worm-hunting.”
“Do you ever get discouraged?”
“I don’t let myself,” the robin said. “Fight on, I say. It’s all right today. I’m about full now.”
“Then I’ll fight on too,” Matthew swore. “One extra morsel would save my life, I believe. And you, perhaps, robin—”
“What do you have in mind?” the robin asked.
“Ah, robin, if you’re not going to eat the other half of that last worm—”
“No, I’ve had plenty. Go ahead,” the robin said.
THE SYNERGY SCULPTURE
There were spheres and cubes and pyramids, and some of these were continuing to develop, twisting upon themselves in a complex fashion. At one point, hanging from a bent limb, a transparent green teardrop had grown stalactites and stalagmites of shimmering yellow. . . .
Terrence L. Brown
“It’s the latest thing, John,” said Mary James to her husband. “Why, Jim and Elsie have had theirs for two weeks, and the Martins have ordered theirs. We simply must have one—and think of how much fun it will be to watch it grow.”
John James scanned the brochure his wife offered him. In large, brightly colored letters, it proclaimed the desirability of ordering “your Synergy Sculpture” today.
“I don’t understand what it does,” he said.
“Look here, silly,” said Mary, pointing to a paragraph headed “HOW IT WORKS.”
“See, we tune it to our thought waves, we plug it in and then we watch it grow.” A vengeful look came into her eyes. In a moment she added a smile. “I’ll bet we can grow a better one than Jim and Elsie, even if they are two weeks ahead already.”
“Have you read this?” John asked, pointing to the brochure.
Mary nodded. “Well, it says here: ‘The Synergy Sculpture is not a toy. It is a sensitive scientific instrument designed to aid couples and groups in becoming more aware of their emotional interactions. The Synergy Sculpture measures emotional interactions among the two to ten people to whom the unit is tuned—not individual emotional states. It has been used successfully by hundreds of psychotherapists throughout the world as a monitor of the growth of couples and groups toward emotionally mature relationships!”
“So?”
“So, what do we need it for? Don’t you think I’m emotionally mature enough for you?”
“Oh, that’s not the point, and you know it.”
John shrugged. “So the thing measures our vibes,” he said, “and grows.”
“Right,” said Mary enthusiastically. “And the better the vibes between us, the more complex, colorful, and beautiful it gets.”
“What happens if our vibes aren’t so good?”
“You’re always pessimistic.” She sighed. “If we fight, then it stops growing. If we continue fighting, then it starts to wilt, to die. But that won’t happen,” she added quickly. “We love each other, right? So the sculpture will pick that up, and in no time it’ll be bigger and better than anyone else’s.”
John gave in. “We might as well get one, I guess. Maybe we’ll learn something.” If they failed, they could always hide the thing in the closet.
The Synergy Sculpture arrived four days later. It was a glass case three feet square and four feet tall. The mechanism itself was encased in the bottom six inches, and this portion was opaque. On the back face were an on-off switch, the power cord, and inputs to tune the mechanism. The sculpture itself would grow in the three and a half foot volume enclosed by clear glass.
The salesman who brought the sculpture also brought the leads which he used to tune the mechanism to John and Mary. It was a simple procedure. He attached the electrodes to both for a few moments, and that was it. The sculpture was now sensitive to any interaction between John and Mary.
“That’s all there is to it,” the salesman said, as he wrapped up the leads and prepared to leave. “The sculpture should begin to form within an hour. The mechanism itself is guaranteed for five years, although it may need periodic sensitivity adjustments. If there seem to be any problems, just give me a call. The manual explains what the various shapes of sculpture mean in terms of your relationship. Remember, if you turn it off, or unplug it, the sculpture will disintegrate, and you’ll have to start all over. I hope you enjoy it. Good-bye.”
As soon as the door closed behind the salesman, Mary turned to John and flung her arms about him.
“I love you,” she said.
“Want it to get a good start, huh?” said John, laughing.
“Why not? Can you think of a better way to get it going?” She smiled coquettishly at him.
“No, I guess not.”
An hour later the sculpture had indeed begun to grow. John and Mary sat before it in dim light. On the left side five small mounds had erupted. They were reddish, and had begun to sprout small tendrils of green. On the other side a single stalk of pink had risen about two inches high. It was round and had sprouted limbs that made it look vaguely like a cactus.
“If we let anyone see this, they’ll know what it is we do all the time,” said John.
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” said John, waving his hand at it, “pink and red are the colors of passion, aren’t they?”
“They must be,” said Mary, with an exaggerated sigh. They both laughed, and cuddled even closer.
Two days later the sculpture was about eight inches tall at its highest point and was growing steadily. It was also becoming more complex. At first it had been growing mostly in treelike forms—the manual said this was a normal beginning, but primitive if it got no further. Now it was beginning to generate a wide variety of color, and was generating more complex and beautiful shapes. There were spheres and cubes and pyramids, and some of these were continuing to develop, twisting upon themselves in a complex fashion. At one point, hanging from a bent limb, a transparent green teardrop had grown stalactites and stalagmites of shimmering yellow. The central stalk of the cactuslike form had shot up to a height of six inches; then the tip of it had opened and curved outward in an unbroken film which descended to encase the entire structure. In all, it was impres
sive, although small compared to the volume it had to grow in.
John was the first home from work that evening. He immediately undressed and headed for the shower; it had been a long, hard day. John was a computer programmer at the university. The system had been down most of the day, and of course, he had had an extra heavy schedule as well. The result was a day of frustration at being unable to run programs, and anger at people who didn’t understand that there was nothing he could do about it, and would not leave him alone to do what he was paid for— programming.
He heard Mary come in and call hello. He pretended not to hear. After his shower, he put on his robe and slippers and joined Mary in the living room. She was examining the sculpture.
“Did you look?” she asked excitedly. Without waiting for him to answer, she turned back to the sculpture. “See? This blue globe is turning in on itself again. Now there’s the flower-like thing within the globe within another globe. The manual says the more complex they get, like that, the more emotionally mature the relationship is.”
She looked back at John, who had collapsed into an easy chair. His eyes were closed.
“Did you hear me?” she asked, after a moment.
“I heard, I heard.”
“Well, did you see what I’m talking about?”
“No, I didn’t see what you’re talking about.” He slumped further into the chair. “And I can’t say I really care, at the moment.”
“What got into you?”
“I had a bad day.”
"So you bring it home and snap at me?”
“Where else am I supposed to bring it? I suppose it should magically go away when I step in the door?”
“Lower your voice,” she said.
“Why should I? It feels good to shout now and then.”
Mary looked back at the sculpture. The colors seemed paler. Then she noticed that the double-globed flower was changing.
“John, look.” The note of concern in her voice made him open his eyes. He went over to the sculpture and knelt beside her.
The double-globed flower was fading to a murky white color; then, while they watched, the whole thing—the two outer globes and the flower—distorted, seeming to melt like hot wax. But it didn’t drip, just melted into itself and was gone. The whole sculpture seemed to have lost some of its brightness.
“It’s so sensitive,” John said. “We destroyed it with our argument.” He turned to Mary. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have thought before I snapped at you.”
“It’s okay, I understand.”
They kissed gently, and hugged each other. Then they glanced at the sculpture to see if it had regained its brightness. It had, a little.
“See, it’s already helped us make our relationship more mature,” said Mary.
By the following evening, the sculpture had regained most of its lost brilliance, although it had not yet begun to grow again.
Mary was late getting home, and John felt a knot growing in his stomach as he waited for her. When she finally arrived, forty-five minutes late, it was obvious that she was upset. She muttered something as she stalked through the living room.
“Bad day?” asked John.
“Those crazy asses,” she exploded. “They can’t make the hardware to the right specifications, so the interface doesn’t work, and then they blame my design.” She threw up her arms, then crossed them, and stood looking out the window.
John got up and went to her. “Relax, Mary. It’s not your mistake and they’ll see that.”
“When?” she asked, raising her voice. “And why should I relax?”
John put his arms around her, but she pulled away.
“Stop it! I’m in no mood to be soothed and placated.”
“Now who’s bringing it home?” asked John.
She turned then, and they both looked at the sculpture. It was already beginning to lose its recently regained brilliance.
“John, I’m sorry,” said Mary, turning to him. “You’re right, it’s stupid of me to do that, especially when I tell you not to.”
In answer, John leaned over and kissed her lightly.
“Love me,” she whispered.
The knot in his stomach had grown tighter; now he was the one who was not in the mood, but he forced himself to participate. His performance was at least satisfactory; he could tell because the sculpture was regaining its glow.
It was three days later, and Mary had taken the afternoon off. She made herself a sandwich for lunch, and sat at the kitchen bar eating it. The kitchen was a mess, the counter tops were piled high with dirty dishes, the Boor hadn’t been swept in a week, a bag of groceries had not been put away as yet.
It was a depressing sight, and it made her headache worse. She rarely got headaches like this one. The pain started at the top of her forehead, and then progressed in both directions until it circled her head. And then it didn’t stop developing, but changed from just spreading to growing in intensity. It had been bothering her for the last two days, and was the reason she had taken the option of this afternoon off. Now, after looking at the mess in the kitchen, she wasn’t sure that she would be able to relax.
She left the kitchen and went into the living room. Things weren’t a lot better there. Miscellaneous stuff was strewn all over the room. It had a quite lived in look. She ignored it, ignored the kitchen, and spent the first part of the afternoon reading. She finally dozed off, and was sleeping when John got home from work.
Mary had been sleeping so soundly that she had to claw herself back to clear thinking. She was fully awake when John returned to the living room and sat stiffly in a chair. He seemed tense to her.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“For having the afternoon off, you didn’t accomplish much,” he said, with an edge to his voice. He swung his arm to encompass the room. “This place is a mess. And the kitchen’s worse.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” she retorted, hotly. “It so happens that I was tired and had a headache.”
Their eyes met, and there was a flash of non-verbal communication between them. They both looked at the sculpture. It hadn’t begun to dim as yet. They were silent a moment. Then Mary got up and went over to where John sat. He smiled, although the tenseness didn’t seem entirely gone. She sat in his lap and they kissed. Turning her head awkwardly and laying her cheek against his, she got a glance of the sculpture. It was still brightly colored.
“I’ll get started in a minute,” she said. She got up and went to the bathroom. She took three aspirin. Her headache was back, with a vengeance.
It was Sunday afternoon. John and Mary had spent Saturday working together on projects around the house. It had been an amiable day, and the sculpture was glowing brightly, and had added some new complexities. That morning they had sat together before it and marveled at what their relationship had created.
Mary was sitting contentedly, reading. John got up and switched on the TV. It was time for the football game.
“Must you, John?” Mary asked, looking up.
“It’s an important game,” he explained.
“But why do you want to spend time listening to that hollering and screaming when we can spend a quiet afternoon together doing something we both enjoy?” She punctuated her words with a sidewise glance at the sculpture.
That was enough. John turned the TV off. He was irritated, but didn’t show it outwardly. He sat quietly, doing nothing, but inside he was restless, and his stomach knotted. A few minutes later, he went to the bathroom and had diarrhea.
Mary was home first from work on Monday. She slumped into a chair and took time to try to relax. A few minutes later John arrived.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she replied. “I’m not cooking tonight.”
“It’s your turn,” he replied.
“I don’t care.” She felt irritable, wished that he would leave her alone.
“Mary, we can’t afford to go out again. You know that.” He caught her ey
es, and then glanced to the sculpture. Her eyes followed his. It hadn’t started to dim yet.
“You’re right, of course,” she said, getting up. She tried to control her irritability. She kissed him. “What would you like?”
Before she started dinner, she went to the bathroom and took four aspirin. Her headache was back. She scratched her arm; she seemed to be developing a rash.
It had been a month since the synergy sculpture arrived. It was now just over two and a half feet high at its highest point, and it shone sharply with brilliant colors. Although it had many different attachment points at the base, these had all grown together at some point, making the sculpture a single structure. It was extremely complex, and difficult to describe. All possible geometrical shapes seemed to be incorporated within it somewhere, giving it its complexity. But somehow the shapes molded into one another to give an appearance of regularity where there should be chaos, with the result that the overall design was pleasing to the eye. The colors, which melted and flowed into each other, enhanced this beauty. It was a sculpture to be proud of.
John and Mary sat before it holding hands.
“Did you talk to Jim Anderson today?” Mary asked.
“Yes, and he said that next Thursday was fine. He said for us not to worry about dessert. He and Elsie will bring something.”
“They don’t have to do that.”
“I know, but he said they wanted to, so I didn’t argue.”
They were silent a moment, watching the sculpture.
“Ours is better than theirs,” said Mary.
“It is,” agreed John. Then, “I wonder if they fought just before we got there Tuesday night? Their sculpture seemed dull.”
“I know. I wondered that, too. Wait until they see how bright ours is.”
“If it stays this bright.”
“Of course it will. We don’t fight.”
“I guess you’re right.”
It was Tuesday night.
“We’ve got to get the cars ready for winter,” said Mary.
